The Flower Among a Thousand Flowers
Didn't she say to go have fun?
If some incredibly bored person ever compiled data on where martial artists tend to fight, they'd discover the interesting fact that more than half of those brawls happen in inns. Restaurants are surprisingly rare, and teahouses seem to have some unspoken agreement to behave with dignity. Which makes sense, really. Restaurants have a certain price point. Their customers are usually the kind with rather heavy purses, so picking a fight could easily lead to a major disaster. As for teahouses, well. Anyone who enjoys the refined leisure of sipping tea there isn't the type to draw their weapon recklessly.
But inns? Anyone can walk in. In Murim terms, it's a place even dogs and cows frequent. And martial artists' fights are usually about showing off superiority. I'm this superior, yet you dare not treat me with more respect, more special care? So if a member of the Black Rank Combat Unit from the Great Murim Unorthodox Alliance's Joint Coalition says to some lowly songstress, "Spread your legs, you wench. I'll grace you with my superior seed," then of course that lowly woman is supposed to obey. But if she doesn't want to, a fight breaks out. From the Unorthodox Path's perspective, it could even be called a fairly justified rage.
I am a member of the Black Rank Combat Unit from the Great Murim Unorthodox Alliance's Joint Coalition!
The Unorthodox Alliance. One characteristic of the Unorthodox Path bastards—excluding those without affiliation—is that they rarely travel alone.
A few members of the Black Bear Group had been enjoying a dinner gathering (with everyone splitting the cost) for team bonding when they tried to harass a pretty wandering songstress. When that didn't work, they surrounded her, shoved their weapons in her face, and made the utterly despicable threat that she should strip immediately. That was when—
"Aaaack!"
The waitress hiding behind the waist-high wall of the kitchen, where the whitewood tables were stacked, let out a sorrowful scream as she explained the situation.
Cheong, who had been listening with her chin propped up, nodded.
"They're bastards who deserve to die. Absolutely."
"That's right! Enemies of women! These lecherous devils should all be castrated!"
Unfortunately, by the time Cheong entered the inn, the lowly wandering songstress was already beating the Unorthodox Alliance warriors like she was pounding dried pollack.
Hmm. I was hoping to see some blood for the first time in a while, but judging by how hard she's going at it, this doesn't seem like the kind of fight where blood will be spilled.
Besides, it was a rare chance to watch a master of leg techniques in action. Cheong watched with great interest while listening to the waitress explain the circumstances.
The seniors of the Gangho always harped on one thing: be careful with children, women, and the elderly. They repeated it so often that it felt like earwax would build up, and every senior you met in the Gangho would toss out this advice at least once. The kind of thing you'd hear even in your dreams. They said it because no matter how much they emphasized it, people never actually listened.
A beautiful wandering songstress wandering the Gangho meant she had the confidence to travel despite her looks. But men, as everyone knows, think with their balls rather than their brains! Especially since there's only one head but two balls—a one-to-two ratio—so men can never refuse their balls' commands. And when they mess with the wrong person, this is exactly what happens.
The woman grabbed a man's hair and slammed his face into the table with a loud bang. Another Unorthodox warrior charged with a dagger, but her voluminous skirt suddenly spread out wide like flower petals. It was a type of leg technique called the Jade Skirt Kick, characterized by hiding one's body within the wide, fluttering skirt to fight.
"Damn it! I'll kill you!"
Finally, the Unorthodox warriors drew their swords. Then the tip of a foot that had been subtly visible beneath the floating hem of the skirt brushed under one warrior's chin—
Slice.
Huh? Slice?
At the cutting sound rather than an impact, Cheong frowned. Not because she was upset, but because her eyes couldn't quite focus. She wanted a better look.
Only then did she notice the sharp silver gleam protruding from the woman's shoe. She had blades attached to her footwear.
The warrior whose neck had been grabbed rolled across the floor. Another warrior aimed for her from behind. The woman spun like a top, and her skirt flew up in three whole layers. With the upper, middle, and lower layers of her skirt spread out, her body was completely hidden from view. Whenever the skirt flared, screams of "Aaaack!" would follow as men clutched their slashed wounds and tumbled to the ground.
One bastard swung his wolf-tooth blade at the fully bloomed flower, but the beautiful silk merely fluttered helplessly. The woman's torso had already dropped low to the ground. Then a powerful kick shot up between his ankles! The blade attached to her toes!
"Whoa."
"Huuuuh."
"Nice!"
Cheong and the waitress unconsciously frowned at the gruesome sight, letting out involuntary groans. Only U Na-ram, who didn't understand the pain involved, raised her voice with excitement.
Perhaps hearing U Na-ram's cheers, the wandering songstress suddenly turned this way, winked, then pressed her lips to her palm and blew a kiss with a soft whoosh.
It was an incredibly relaxed display, enough to flirt in the middle of a fight.
"Die!"
One of the Unorthodox warriors suddenly leaped up from somewhere, both hands gripping his willow leaf blade as he charged. A rather decent first-class blade energy formed a long tail as it flew toward the back of the wandering songstress's head—
CLANG!!
A sound like hammering iron. As if time had rewound, the warrior's hands shot back up. The paper-thin blade of the willow leaf sword vibrated violently, letting out a strange weeeeng weeeeng sound.
The Unorthodox warrior struggled to control his weapon under the pressure, looking exactly like a man forced to dance a dance he should never perform. It was precisely the dance that people from Cheong's homeland called "Zero Two."
"Ugh."
At the eye-burning disgrace, Cheong's face twisted. She picked up the chopsticks she'd been holding in her left hand one by one and began flinging them rapidly.
Though they were just chopsticks, the shoo shoo sound they made was no different from incredibly powerful iron arrows.
"Hidden weapons! There's a master—"
One Unorthodox warrior tried to warn the others, but a foot with a blade embedded in the temple dug deep into his skull, twisted around, and came back out.
The wandering songstress was already a master, and now Super Super Super Transcendent Super Cheong was seriously throwing chopsticks on top of that.
"I'll help too!"
U Na-ram drew her soft sword and joined in, scattering sharp sword energy with every swish swish.
They were merely the middle rank of the Black and White ranks—the Black Rank Combat Unit. Without their leader or vice-leader, just a bunch of guys having dinner while watching each other nervously. How long could they possibly last?
The last Unorthodox warrior collapsed with a thud. If he'd fought desperately it might have looked better, but the pathetic sight of him turning his back to run only to get a chopstick sprouting from the back of his neck was truly ugly.
After that, the wandering songstress approached Cheong and offered a greeting.
She crossed her palms in a straight line, covered her mouth, bowed her head slightly, and bent her knees. It was called the solemn bow—one of the most polite greetings a woman could perform. For reference, the highest form of respect, the heavenly obeisance, could only be performed toward the Emperor, one's master, parents, or the heavens during ancestral rites. So this was essentially the most polite greeting one could give.
"This junior, Na Yang-gyeol of the Cheonhwa Jeondang, offers a deep bow to her senior among the female martial artists. If it's not too rude, may I ask for your honorable name?"
Cheong realized the woman had misunderstood.
Not only had she thrown chopsticks to block blade energy, but she'd also made the man dance that hideous dance with unresolved momentum. Of course the woman would think she was a female master with incredibly profound internal energy. And since most female masters tended to be somewhat advanced in age, seeing Cheong with her face veil had apparently led her to mistake Cheong for some great senior of the Gangho.
"There's no need to be so formal. I'm Seomun Cheong from the Sinnyeo Sect."
"Seomun Cheong? You mean the Cheonhwa-geom?"
"That's what this inadequate one is called, yes."
For some reason, the woman's expression soured at that.
"Hmm. So you are the Cheonhwa-geom. Um, shall we move to a different spot first? I was actually looking for you."
The Cheonhwa Jeondang, meaning the Hall of a Thousand Flowers, is a mysterious sect composed exclusively of women.
For reference, in terms of fame alone: the Ami Sect ranks first, the Cheonhwa Jeondang second, and the Sinnyeo Sect only third.
After moving to a private room, Na Yang-gyeol let out a deep sigh.
"The truth is, the reason I came to Nanning was to meet the Cheonhwa-geom."
"Me?"
Na Yang-gyeol hesitated before finally speaking.
"In our Cheonhwa Jeondang, we've called our head disciple Cheonhwa for a very long time. The head disciple of this generation is called Jihwa, and the one of the previous generation is called Inhwa."
"Hmm. And?"
"Although the characters look different, strictly speaking, Hwa (花) and Hwa (華) aren't entirely different characters, are they? So the title that the Cheonhwa-geom uses has become quite troublesome for our Cheonhwa Jeondang. Moreover, since our sect's name itself is Cheonhwa Jeondang, even though you didn't choose the title with any ill intent, well... you understand what I'm saying, right?"
"Ah."
Cheong made a troubled sound. That certainly made sense. If there were a female master whose title became Sinnyeo-geom or Yohee-geom or Yohee Sinnyeo, what on earth would that make the Sinnyeo Sect, which worships and offers sacrifices to Yohee? It would be just as awkward as a Hwasan Demon Sword who had nothing to do with Mt. Hua, a Wudang Gale Sword with no connection to Wudang, or some swordsman suddenly calling himself the Shaolin Divine Sword. Obviously, no one would dare provoke the Nine Great Sects with such audacity. But since female martial artists who weren't from the Sinnyeo Sect occasionally appeared with the title of Sinnyeo, perhaps the sin was simply being less famous and having weaker martial prowess.
"It looks like I'll have to change my title. But how exactly does one go about changing a title...?"
Na Yang-gyeol shook her head.
"Before that, could I see your face?"
"Pardon?"
"The Hall Master instructed me to verify whether you are qualified to use the title of Cheonhwa. She said that if the title of Hwajungcheonhwa—the flower among a thousand flowers—is true, then our entire sect will gladly offer praise to the greatest beauty of this generation."
"That's—! Isn't that too much?!"
U Na-ram, who had been listening, suddenly shouted.
She phrased it nicely as "gladly offer praise," but what she really meant was that if the Cheonhwa-geom wasn't the greatest beauty under heaven, she should change her title. But who on earth decided who the greatest beauty was? To the Han people, large breasts symbolized stupidity, lewdness, and wickedness (though they didn't exactly dislike them), but among the Jang people, breast size was the most important factor in a woman's beauty. Just look at the Five Flowers of Murim. There were those who preferred fierce beauties with dirty eyes and even a slight squint like the Black Flower, while people like Cheong preferred calm, delicate beauties like the Snow Flower. Or the seemingly pure and adorable type like the Poison Flower (appearance only), or the bold and cute type like the Sword Flower. Everyone had different tastes. There was also the White Lily, a traditional beauty without any particularly striking features. Since beauty wasn't something that could be measured with numbers, how could the Cheonhwa Jeondang possibly decide who was qualified or not? So all this talk about recognition was really just a demand to change the title. That was why U Na-ram had gotten so worked up.
"Hey, Na-ram. But the people from Cheonhwa Jeondang have a point too. If my title was something like Gyerim Sword Empress, wouldn't that be incredibly awkward for the Gyerim Sword Sect?"
"Hmm... Indeed! Hyung-nim! This U Na-ram is impressed! Impressed again! Moved! Moved again! In awe! In awe again! A true great hero possesses exactly this kind of broad magnanimity! A broad chest! An expansive chest! A magnificent chest! A great hero who can embrace the entire world within that enormous chest!!"
Hmm. I know she doesn't mean anything bad by it, but... why does it always end with breasts?
She wasn't coveting them like Nan-a, but still... Nan-a. Yeah, she kind of wanted to see Nan-a's a little. Maybe she should stop by Sichuan on her way home.
"Thank you for understanding. Honestly, I felt so embarrassed saying it out loud, so regarding the title issue, we'll consult with the Murim Alliance and—"
Na Yang-gyeol had been pouring out words like an excuse, unable to hide her apologetic expression, when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
Her face looked dazed, as if slightly drunk, or like someone who had just witnessed something unbelievable.
It was the side effect of seeing Cheong's face after she had removed her veil, just in case.
"Miss Na?"
Na Yang-gyeol snapped out of it with a start and nodded with a serious expression.
"With the full authority entrusted to me by the Hall Master, our Cheonhwa Jeondang hereby recognizes your qualification as Hwajungcheonhwa. As expected, the greatest under heaven also possesses the greatest discernment. If Seomun Sojeo is not Cheonhwa, then what flower in this world could possibly deserve that name?"
"Huh?"
What? Case closed just like that?
As Cheong blinked in bewilderment, Na Yang-gyeol looked at her with a determined expression.
"Seomun Sojeo. However, I have one other request. Will you listen without misunderstanding?"
"What is it?"
Na Yang-gyeol answered.
"Please become my partner. I have fallen in love with you."